


It’s Better To Love, and I Will Love You ‘Til I Die

by jackpip



Category: The Greastest Showman (2017)
Genre: Daisy chains, Fluff, M/M, that’s it just. a Lot of fluff, walks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-07 01:28:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18400358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackpip/pseuds/jackpip
Summary: The daisies touch his palm as Phineas’ hand curls further around his, and it occurs to Phillip that, were he to suddenly drop dead and be deemed worthy of a perfect afterlife, he would wake up exactly where he stands.





	It’s Better To Love, and I Will Love You ‘Til I Die

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write some fluff and the idea of Phil and Phin being just entirely at peace in nature was hella appealing! I apologise for the potentially cliché nature of this :// - Jack

Daisies part for them, bowing in deference to the two men who walk among them. They trap the noise, the neediness of the city and tuck it away, stored safely in the precious little alabaster ribs protecting their golden hearts. Some capture the anguished cries of those shunned, their innocence stripped away with their very birth; their petals are stained with pinkish blood, too fresh to congeal red.

It is those daisies that Phineas picks, dipping periodically to collect another and add it to the bouquet forming in the pocket between his hand and Phillip’s. In honesty, Phillip yearns to break his hand away, allow the flowers to breathe and his knuckles to flex freely; even so, the look on Phineas’ face, the pure contentment flowing from every cell of his countenance, is enough to keep it firmly in place.

The warm breeze wanders ahead of them, weaving between the trees and ruffling their leaves to show its path. They meander after it, silence their friend for once; even the most outspoken chaffinches—and, Phillip notes with wonder, _Phineas—_ seem to obey its peaceful command. The daisies touch his palm as Phineas’ hand curls further around his, and it occurs to Phillip that, were he to suddenly drop dead and be deemed worthy of a perfect afterlife, he would wake up exactly where he stands.

There are clearings in so very many forests where the leaves covering the floor crunch underfoot, even in spring, and the air is still, mild as it rests. The breeze leads them to such a place, ruffling Phineas’ hair as he steps into its house. Phillip stumbles, unsure of his footing, and the wind offers him a seat on an old tree stump. He accepts graciously, and Phineas sits on the ground at his feet. Finally, finally, he releases Phillip’s hand and, as grateful he is to be able to work the cramps out of his fingers, he instantly misses the heat that had enveloped them. In lieu of a hand to hold, Phillip settles for burrowing a hand into his partner’s hair. Phineas leans into the touch, head resting against his knee as he begins to fiddle with the daisies, limp and almost ugly in his palm.

The ostinato of Phineas’ shoulders moving against his shins is enough to send Phillip into a catatonic state. He allows his thoughts to wander, eyes drifting shut and breaths slowing as they travel further and further, until the only signs of life he shows are his fingers, slow and repetitive, running through the crashing waves of Phineas’ hair. His mind follows a path similar to that of the breeze, twisting through wooden pillars; Phillip loses his way somewhere and his fingers come to halt as he finds himself thoroughly lost in his own head.

He has no idea how much time has passed when Phineas gently removes the hand from his hair, and pulls it down in front of him. Phillip starts, shocked out of his trance, as the other man slides a bracelet of daisies onto his wrist. Phineas’ smile is blinding, pure in its soft innocence, and Phillip can’t help reflecting it as he twists his arm, admiring his gift. It’s simple, delicate, fleeting—it will probably be shrivelled by tomorrow—and he loves it. Phineas has a skill for bringing out beauty in things that others dismiss, belittle, and Phillip adores the quiet joy that doing so, in turn, brings out in him.

Phineas turns, kneeling up until his face is level with Phillip’s, faces so close their noses brush. Phillip kisses him, smiling into the other man’s lips until he leans backwards. They break apart, and confusion takes over Phillip as his partner holds up a hand, silently asking him to wait. Phineas fumbles around for a second, never looking away from Phillip’s eyes, then produces one last daisy.

He breaks into another easy grin as he leans forward, tucking it behind Phillip’s ear, and pulls him into another languid kiss. Phillip melts, arms wrapping around Phineas’ shoulders; slowly, he sinks from the stump to the floor, holding the other man close. Phineas’ arms wind around his waist, one hand flat against his spine, and Phillip reevaluates his thoughts about Heaven.

He resolves that if dying means leaving this, even just for a second, he’ll have to become immortal.


End file.
